GrammarDemon said: No waffle fries for you, you evil, eeeeeviiiilllllll Dr. Seuss rhyming person, you. No. Not even one.
Noooooooo!
Do not take my waffle fries!
*Makes the great big puppy eyes*
Give them back at once, I say -
Give them back now, right away!
If I do not get them all,
I will scream and shout and bawl!
I will eat them all, I swear!
I will eat them, and not share!
I will eat them, one by one,
I will eat them, 'til they're done!
I will lick the crumbs up, too,
There will be none left for you!
...
Ahem.
Sorry about that. Waffle fries are a subject close to my heart. Like many later life converts of any sort, I'm particularly zealous.
Darla said: Sam is alpha so he can't have assbabies only omegas can have babies in wereverse fanfics
? ? ?
I had no idea what she was talking about. When talking about an animal at the bottom of the pecking order, an 'omega' individual is usually an artificially produced one, when non-related wolves are kept in captivity. But then I thought, what does pack order have to do with being able to have babies? Animals other than the alpha female can breed. What does this mean in wereverse fanfics?
So, like an idiot, I went and googled it.
And ended up on Tumblr.
o_O
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
I also found out what a knotting fic is.
o_O
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
And after that, it got worse.
I wound up on a website called 'Sinful Desire'.
*faints*
Ignorance was bliss. Denizens; they are depraved, even if they do get shit done.
Chapter Fifteen
Sam returned in the wee small hours and fell into bed, resisting all Dean's efforts at interrogation and insisting that he just wanted to get some sleep.
"He looked exhausted," Dean mused happily over breakfast the next morning, "I'm so proud..."
"I really don't want to know," Ronnie growled.
"Well, we're not in a rush to leave," Dean shrugged, "So I'm happy for him to have some time to recover from whatever it was Alison did to him."
Andrew looked up. "Alison? From the steakhouse?" he asked.
"Yeah," Dean replied.
"Well, there's a turn-up for the books," chortled Ronnie.
"Huh?" went Dean.
"She's got guys sniffin' after her all the time," Andrew explained, "But she's just a, well, she's a nice girl. Not really the serial fling type. Sam must really have made an impression."
"Polar opposite of her sister," remarked Ronnie, flipping a pancake, "Chloe couldn't keep her pants on if you glued the fly shut."
"Sister?" echoed Dean.
"Yeah, they're twins," Andrew told him. "They cover each other's shifts, sometimes, and drive Mal nuts tryin' to keep track of who worked when, and whose paycheck should be how much."
Dean's mouth dropped open. "Twins?"
"They're great, really," Ronnie told him, "They volunteer at the animal shelter. I think Chloe was thinking of throwing in the whole waitressing thing, though, because she's picking up so much work at the yoga studio."
Dean's eyebrows headed for his hairline. "Yoga?"
"She's an instructor," Andrew said.
"Wasn't Alison almost finished her massage diploma?" asked Ronnie. "She was doing some extra study, to qualify to do sports medicine stuff – she doesn't want to be waitressing her whole life, either..."
"Massage?" squeaked Dean.
Ronnie peered at him. "You okay?" she asked, "You look a bit pale, and you've got a long drive ahead of you, let me get you some more pancakes, I think your blood sugar might be low."
"He's just faint from lack of bacon," stated Andrew with authority, and Ronnie scrambled to drop more rashers into the pan.
Sam surfaced later, and went through the now-familiar 'good-morning' nose-sniffing ritual, exchanging whuffs with Ronnie as she busied herself making him breakfast.
"Here," she put a steaming mug in front of him, "You need this."
"Thanks," he yawned, sniffing at it then taking a deep drink. "Ohhhhh, that's better."
Dean made a face. "Are you drinking ass tea again?"
"Yep," Sam beamed, "And if this is what ass tastes like, I'm happy with it."
"Speaking of bein' happy with getting ass," Dean's segue was as subtle as a salivating pervert in a grubby raincoat, "How was your night with... Alison?"
"Fun, if tiring," Sam replied, drinking his tea.
"Tiring?" prompted Dean, "Any reason why it was tiring? Double trouble, perhaps?"
"If there was, I'm not telling you," scowled Sam. "Is there something wrong with your eyebrows?"
"Dean Basil Winchester," Ronnie growled, "I FORBID you to ask your brother prurient questions at the breakfast table. Or anywhere else under this roof. Some things should stay private."
"It will!" Dean insisted, "I won't tell anybody else after he tells me!"
"You want porn, Dean, go start the laptop," humphed Sam. "The other one. The one that runs as slow as a wet week, because you're forever filling it with malware and viruses from sites of questionable taste."
"But this is important!" insisted Dean.
"Breakfast is important," Sam countered, digging into his pancakes.
"Come on, Sam, I need details!" insisted Dean, "I gotta make sure I raised you right – how many rounds? What was her signature move? Were there anyOW!"
The egg cup bounced off his ear. Ronnie gave him the sort of growl usually associated with sudden and bloody death from the darkness.
"Prude," he mumbled, turning back to his coffee.
...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...
Later in the morning, The Winchesters loaded up the Impala.
"I'm not completely happy about this," rumbled Ronnie.
"I know," Sam replied, hoisting his duffel into the trunk of the Impala, "But this is something we need to check out. I'll be fine. Dean has my back."
"You better believe it," confirmed Dean, opening the rear door to let Jimi jump into the back seat.
"We know you'll be fine," Andrew said firmly, "Because you're Hunters, and you know what you're doing."
"Just make sure you're back here by the last night of the full moon," Ronnie stipulated, "And if you find you can't fight the shapeshift when the moon is full, stay out of sight."
"Yes, Mom," Sam rolled his eyes and did a marvellous drawling impression of a teenager who believes that he's too old to need babysitting.
"He will," Dean assured her.
"Keep alert for anything silver," she went on, as Dean slid behind the wheel and Sam clambered into shotgun, "You know the smell."
"Yeah, I will," Sam promised.
"Be careful of your teeth if you're eating in public," she finished, "Don't let anybody see!"
"I won't," Sam tried not to roll his eyes, "Really, I'll be fine!"
"So, go save people, Hunt things, and carry on the family business," Andrew said, waving goodbye as Dean gunned the engine.
"Be careful!" Ronnie added, "Look out for your brother, Dean, he's..."
"He's an adult," Andrew cut her off. "Safe trip."
With a honk and a wave, the Winchesters were on the road again.
Ronnie and Andrew stood in the drive, watching the car disappear, then he turned to look at her.
"Chloe?" he said incredulously, "Does Alison even have a sister? A sister who does yoga?"
"She's an only child," Ronnie told him, beaming.
"That was very naughty," Andrew chided his pair-bond.
Well, I didn't hear you rushing to call bullshit," sniffed Ronnie dismissively, "And you turned her into a yoga instructor."
"She's not a massage therapist, either," Andrew noted. "She's been doing some work at the shelter, since she got her animal technician qualification."
"Well, maybe she massages the animals," Ronnie suggested. "Maybe she shiatsus Shar-Peis, lomi-lomis Labradors, hot-stones hounds, myotherapises mastiffs, bowens bulldogs, reflexologises Retrievers. swedishes salukis, lymphatically drains Leonbergers..."
Andrew gave her A Look.
"Well, it'll give them something to talk about," she waved a hand airily. "At least, it'll give Dean something to talk about."
"Something to pester his brother about, you mean," Andrew humphed. "Seriously, 'Chloe'? Where the hell did 'Chloe' come from?"
...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...
"Seriously, Dean, knock it off!" snapped Sam, backing it up with a Bitchface #5™ (My Private Life Is SO None Of Your Business, Jerk).
"Details, Sam, I need details!" Dean insisted, his eyebrows performing lewd feats of occipitofrontal oscillation, "Come on, it's my duty as a big brother to take an interest!"
"It's your choice as a perv to take an interest," Sam huffed, "I don't know why you care – you're always goin' on about how inadequate my sex life is, while yours is non-stop, red-hot, X-rated action – I have no idea why the Living Sex God could possibly want to know about what Mr Vanilla does after dark, seein' as it happens so rarely ..."
"That just makes it more special, Sam," Dean said tenderly. His little brother pulled a face. "But two nights in a row? Way to go little bro! When was the last time that happened? Wait, has it ever happened before?"
"Sex two nights in a row? Yeah," Sam griped, "Hard to believe, I know, but yeah, it has happened before."
"Care to share with the class?" waggle waggle waggle
"No."
"So," Dean went on casually, "Did you meet... anyone?"
"What?" yapped Sam. "What the hell?"
"You know, at Alison's place," Dean prompted, "Did you, you know, meetanyone?"
Sam gave his brother a dubious look. "At Alison's place?" he echoed.
"Yeah!" Dean nodded vigorously, "Did you meet anyone?"
"I'm really not going to discuss this with you," Sam scowled.
"Does the name... Chloe mean anything to you?" pressed Dean slyly.
Sam glared at him. "What is this?" he demanded, "Were you pumping Ronnie and Andrew for details?"
"Nope," Dean grinned happily, "They just mentioned her."
Sam rounded on him. "Fine, yeah, I met Chloe there, okay? And before you ask, she had the most beautiful eyes, and amazingly long legs."
"And?..." prompted Dean.
"What do you mean, 'and'?" demanded Sam, as his brother grinned encouragingly. "Oh, for fuck's sake – she was all over me like a rash, and she used plenty of tongue."
Dean's eyes bugged.
"You got your details," Sam grumped, "Now shut the fuck up." He watched a sign flash by. "Let's get some food," he said, "I'm hungry."
"I'm not surprised," murmured Dean, looking at his baby brother with a mix of pride, disbelief and maybe just a little worry.
Sam ignored him. Dean was forever soliciting details of personal encounters that were none of his business.
And why Dean would be interested in hearing about Alison's adorable liittle Whippet was beyond him.
...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...
Sam's snarky mood seemed to dissipate as soon as he had a box of wings in front of him. "Ohhhhhh yeah," he hummed, shoving one into his mouth; Dean thought he heard bones crunch. "That's what I'm talkin' about." He turned around to give one to Jimi, who accepted it happily, then pushed the box across the seat towards his big brother. "Try one, these are real good."
"You know, there are advantages to havin' you like this," Dean ruminated, grabbing a wing out of the box next to him on the seat, "It's been, what, three weeks since you've bitched about my eating habits."
"I'm just hungry," Sam shrugged, picking up another wing.
"Well, you got a lifetime of eatin' rabbit food to make up for," Dean pointed out. "You wanna hit another steakhouse once we get to Portland?"
Sam's eyes lit up. "Awesome!" he beamed.
"It's kinda weird," Dean went on, "You can eat your own bodyweight in meat and trimmings at a sitting, but if we go around doin' steak challenges, you'll actually work out cheaper to feed this way. No wonder I could never get my head around Economics." He took another wing. "So, what's the plan?"
"Well, in order to gather intel on this modelling agency, I think the obvious approach is to present ourselves as possible, uh, you know, clients," Sam suggested. "They advertise themselves as an agency that can provide people of all shapes and sizes, for any job..."
"Well, they'll take one look at me and know that if anybody wants a picture of an awesome guy holding a beer, I'm it," declared Dean. "I suppose you could do shampoo advertising."
"Shut up."
"In fact, if you do, that'd be great, because maybe you could get some free stuff, and that'd save money, what with you having to buy so much shampoo because of your girly hair..."
"Dean..."
"...To the point where it kind of negates your eating-for-free properties – yeah, you'd be enough to keep a whole classful of Economics post-grads goin' for years..."
"Jerk."
"I'm just sayin'," Dean grinned, then reached for another wing, "Or maybe a shaver ad, demonstrating how a particular shaver can power through the most godawful sideburns effortlessly..." his hand found rustling paper. "What the... hey, you've eaten them all, you bitch!"
Sam smiled, and burped. "I had some help," he reminded his big brother, "Jimi ate some too." As if to back him up, Jimi woofed, and belched.
"I oughta just feed you assholes canned food," Dean growled, "You don't seem to care much for quality, provided there's enough quantity."
Sam passed the box over to Jimi to lick out, then Dean slid a cassette into the deck, and cranked up some of his music, singing along and drumming on the wheel, just enjoying the feel of being on the road again.
He was just performing a particularly rousing intro to 'Creeping Death' when his nose twitched...
"What the...? Oh, fuck!" he screwed his face up. "Jesus H. Christ, Jimi, was that you?"
In the back seat, Jimi opened his eyes, let out a long humph, and went back to his snooze.
"No, seriously!" Dean flapped a hand in front of him, "What the hell is that, J-Man? That's bad, even for you! Look for an exit, Sam, I'm gonna find a pet barn, and get some charcoal biscuits..."
Next to him, Sam leaned ever so slightly sideways.
A fresh wave of stench washed over him.
Dean glared at his little brother. "It's you!" he yelped in outrage, "It's the Toxic Taco Boy! Dude, what the fuck?"
Sam just shrugged in an unconcerned fashion as another olfactory assault attacked his nose.
"Hey! Knock it off with the silent-but-deadly thing!" demanded Dean, "Jesus, what the fuck? We haven't eaten Mexican for weeks?"
"I can't help it," Sam answered defensively, "I'm not doing it on purpose!"
"Oh –my – God," moaned Dean, gasping, "Open your damned window!"
"No," Sam replied, "I don't wanna get blown away. It's chilly. You open yours."
"But that'll suck the smell over here, past me!" Dean complained. "Why the hell has this just started?"
"Well, it's the first time we've been in the car for any length of time," Sam pointed out, "So we got an enclosed space here."
"Not how, Sam, why?" Dean almost wailed, winding his own window down. "Why? Why? In the name of all that is holy, why?"
Sam considered the question. "Well, maybe it's all the meat I've been eating," he theorised, "And my system isn't used to it, so my flora are adapting."
"Who the fuck is Flora, and why is she adapting you to stinking like something crawled up your ass and died?" Dean wanted to know.
"I mean gut flora, as in, bacteria in your intestines," Sam qualified with a roll of his eyes and a Bitchface #8™ (You Are Now Officially Talking Complete Shit, Dean). "In my case, they're having to adapt to a diet with a lot more animal protein – my intake of methionine and cysteine, sulphur-containing amino acids, has gone up, so they're adapting to utilise those more efficiently, which is resulting in..." he broke wind with sonorously.
"Oh, just great," groaned Dean, "My little brother has bacterial efficiency experts up his ass, and at least one of 'em is learin' the trombone. Fuck my life." He peered at the road ahead. "Look for an exit."
"We've got another couple of hours to go..."
"I know that," Dean cut Sam off, "Which is why we have to find an exit."
"Okay," Sam picked up the well-creased map, "Actually, you know, I wouldn't mind some waffle fries, maybe some onion rings..."
"We're not lookin' for people food," Dean informed him, "I told you, I gotta find a pet barn, and buy some charcoal biscuits."
"I didn't think you minded Jimi, after wings," Sam queried, "Usually, they make him produce cinammon-scented flatus."
"I got no beef with Jimi," growled Dean, "But I am gonna force-feed you the entire packet!"
Could somebody bring me some waffle fries and some mind bleach? Ta. And if anybody sees my ignorance lying broken and bleeding on the ground somewhere, please pick it up and give it back, I'm prepared to take desperate measures to restore it...